“I ain’t feelin’ so happy myself,” muttered Brevoort, turning toward the window.

Pete, sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed that Brevoort’s face was tense and unnatural.  Presently Brevoort tossed his cigarette out of the window and turned to Pete.  “I been thinkin’ it out,” he began slowly.  “That hunch of yours kind of got me goin’.  The best thing we kin do is to get out of this town quick.  We got to split—­no way round that.  We’re all right so far, but by to-morrow they’ll be watchin’ every train and every hotel, and doggin’ every stranger to see what he’s doin’.  What you want to do is to take them sacks, wrap ’em up in paper, put ole E. H. Hodges’s name on it—­he’s president of the Stockmen’s Security Bank here, and a ole pal of The Spider’s—­and pack it over to the express company and git a receipt. They’ll sure git that money to the bank.  And then you want to fan it.  If you jest was to walk out of town, no’th, you could catch a train for Alamogordo, mebby, and then git a hoss and work over toward the Organ Range, which is sure open country—­and cattle.  You can’t go back the way we come—­and they’ll be watchin’ the border south.”

“Where is that express outfit, anyhow?”

“You know that street where we seen the show?  Well, if you keep right on you’ll come to the Square and the express company is right on the corner.”

“All right, Ed. But what you goin’ to do?”

“I’m goin’ to git a soogun to-morrow mornin’, roll my stuff and head for the border, afoot.  I’m a ranch-hand lookin’ for work.  I know where I kin get acrost the river.  Then I aim to hit for the dry spot, bush out, and cross the line where they won’t be lookin’ for a man afoot, nohow.”

“Why don’t you git to movin’ right now?” Brevoort smiled curiously.  “They’s two reasons, pardner; one is that I don’t want to git stood up by a somebody wantin’ to know where I’m goin’ at night with my war-bag—­and I sure aim to take my chaps and boots and spurs and stuff along, for I’m like to need ’em.  Then you ain’t out of town yet.”

“Which is why you’re stickin’ around.”

“If we only had a couple of hosses, Pete.  It’s sure hell bein’ afoot, ain’t it?”

“It sure is.  Say, Ed, we got to split, anyhow.  Why don’t you git to goin’?  It ain’t like you was quittin’ me cold.”

“You’re a mighty white kid, Pete.  And I’m goin’ to tell you right now that you got a heap more sense and nerve than me, at any turn of the game.  You been goin’ round to-night on cold nerve and I been travelin’ on whiskey.  And I come so clost to gittin’ drunk that I ain’t sure I ain’t yet.  It was liquor first started me ridin’ the high trail.”

Brevoort had seated himself on the bed beside Pete.  As the big Texan rolled a cigarette, Pete saw that his hands trembled.  For the first time that evening Pete noticed that his companion was under a high tension.  He could hardly believe that Brevoort’s nerve was really shaken.